Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“What do you think?”

Jimin tilts, examining the back of one leg in the mirror. Then he twists around to see his other side. The paint starts at his ankles with vines curling around his calves, then flicks over his knees, up and up and up to bloom across his back. The flowers are bursts of red and pink, the petals curling up over his shoulders and caressing his collarbones. It’s hard to take his eyes off them. Yoongi had done several practice runs on him, but seeing it altogether like this – it makes his breath catch in his throat.

And if it affects him this much, he can’t wait to see the court’s expressions. Jimin has been one of Sariye’s top Flowers for years, but now he’s transformed himself into a literal flower.

However, all he says to Yoongi is, “Not bad.”

It’s fun watching Yoongi’s eyes narrow. Then his hand flicks out. Jimin swerves back, giggling.

“I’m joking! I’m joking,” he says, moving gingerly back into place while still eyeing Yoongi warily. He can feel the paint caked on his skin and he doesn’t want to mess it up. Not after spending hours laying perfectly still for Yoongi.

“Brat,” Yoongi mumbles, tossing the brush on the table with the rest of the paints.

“It’s perfect,” Jimin says, tilting this way and that to see all the details. The vine has delicate little thorns across it, which Jimin likes. Beautiful, but prickly.

“That’s more like it. I gave up an afternoon for this.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “I’m sure you have nothing better to do.”

“You’re not very good at being grateful.”

Jimin pouts, head going down. He blinks up at Yoongi through his lashes. “I’m so sorry, my lord,” he says in his best breathy tone, exactly as he’s done to hundreds of others before. “Please don’t be angry at me?” He tilts his head to the side, even biting his lip.

Yoongi, a sought-after Flower in his own right, makes a face. “Put some clothes on.” And throws a house robe at him.

The contrite mask drops from Jimin in an instant and he’s back to standing proudly. He’s completely naked, but he lost his self-consciousness a long time ago.

“Don’t act like you haven’t been enjoying the free show.”

Yoongi pauses. Slowly, slowly, his eyes dip and travel down Jimin’s body. All the way to his toes and back up. His expression doesn’t change the whole time.

“I’ll pass,” Yoongi says.

Jimin huffs. “I guess I already know you have terrible taste—”

The door flies open. “Minnie! You look amazing!”

Jimin sighs. “Speaking of bad taste…” he mumbles and gets kicked in the shin by Yoongi.

“What was that?” Hoseok comes into Jimin’s room like he owns the place, poking around at Yoongi’s paints.

“I said you need to learn how to knock,” Jimin says, folding his arms. “As I say every time you do this.”

“Oh. I forgot… sorry, Minnie!”

Jimin’s eyes narrow. “Jimin is fine.”

“Oops! I always forget that too, sorry!”

And that’s the thing with Hoseok. Ever since Seokjin brought him over from one of the other Flowerhouses, he’d been nothing but bright, bubbly and sickeningly nice. Jimin has met hundreds and hundreds of people and he’s never met someone as unfailingly sunny as Hoseok.

Which means he can’t be trusted. There’s no way anyone is that happy all the time. He’s fake, and Yoongi knows this and yet is still nice to him. He even has a—

Ugh. Jimin can barely even think it.

A crush.

He shudders. He’d respected Yoongi enough to think he was the same as Jimin – completely immune to that childish bullshit. Something as whimsical as a crush. But no. Yoongi has a crush-sized soft spot for Jimin’s newest rival and Jimin hates to be reminded of it.

Hoseok is now circling Jimin, eyes wide as they dart over the paint.

“This is so! Wow! Yoongi, you’re so talented!”

Yoongi’s cheeks faintly colour.

“It’s nothing,” he says softly, which is a completely different attitude to earlier.

Jimin makes a disgusted face and takes a big step away from Hoseok’s fake, prying eyes. He decides that maybe he’s had enough nudity for now, and tosses his inner robe on, tying it briskly at the waist.

“Thank you for your help, Yoongi,” Jimin says with a pretty smile. “Now, if you’ll both get the fuck out? I have to finish getting ready.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. Hoseok beams, waving and saying, “Sure thing! You look incredible!”

Jimin turns to his makeup table, dismissing them before they’ve even left the room. He sighs and begins his routine. He doesn’t really want to sit down in case the paint is still wet, so he bends awkwardly over to peer at the mirror. He doesn’t need to do anything extravagant with his face since his entire body is painted, so he just sticks to the basics.

He’s almost done when he feels someone behind him.

“Yoongi, I told you I’m—” He glances back.

Stops.

No one’s there. The door is still shut. Jimin scans the room, but can’t see anyone. He blinks.

Then sighs. He should get something to eat before he leaves. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast and he rarely gets the chance to eat at these parties. He’s there to work, after all.

He finishes up then sheds his robe, picking up the outfit he’d already laid out on his bed. Bumps ripple down his spine and he scowls at his paranoia. He shakes out the garment and puts it on. It probably covers less than his inner robe – hooking around his neck, leaving his back bare. The ends flutter around his legs, revealing hints of where the vines lead up to. He adds several layers on top, because he can’t exactly travel in just that slip of fabric. It’d ruin the surprise, too.

Everything else is simple, and doesn’t take long. His pink hair shines from the oil he’d used earlier, brushed back from his face but without further adornment. He gives himself a last look in the mirror, then nods in satisfaction.

There’s several others lingering in the foyer when he makes his way downstairs.

“My darling dove!” Seokjin calls out, throwing his arms wide. “Show us your feathers! Give us a twirl!”

“I just got dressed.”

“Excuse me? Is that how I raised you, you yappy little puppy with glittering eyes? How I brought you up to be one of the most cherished Flowers of Sariye? Renown throughout the land? The pink jewel of the Dovecote? Hmm pink jewel sounds funny, Namjoon darling, what’s an appropriate pink gem? Garnet? No, too red…” Seokjin looks around. “Namjoon?”

“He left hours ago,” Yoongi says. He’s curled up on a seat overlooking the street outside. He’s in a plain robe, taking the night off from bookings and viewings. Just a quiet presence at the side of the room, except for his long mint-coloured hair. Jimin itches to play with it. Yoongi always makes a face when he tries, but he’ll let Jimin do just about anything. Indeed, it hadn’t been hard to bully him into going along with Jimin’s plan to paint him and shock the court.

“Really? How rude. Who else will know random rock facts?”

“Rose quartz!” Hoseok says, popping down the stairs from behind Jimin with that annoying dancer’s grace. “And it’s light pink, too. Perfect for our rose quartz of the Dovecote!”

Jimin undoes his belt, saying, “That sounds terrible. Don’t give me that title, please.”

“Hoseok, don’t you have a booking at the Rising Tranquility Teahouse soon? Why aren’t you dressed?” Seokjin gives a very disappointed frown.

“On my way now!” Hoseok says with a winning smile. “Just wanted to catch a glimpse of our jewel before he left.”

“You already saw me.”

“But you weren’t all done up then! It’s different.”

Jimin turns his back on him. Then he drops his outer layers so just his slip of cloth remains. There’s gasps from the others in the foyer. Jimin preens. It’s nice to be fawned over by the courtiers, but it’s even better when it’s his fellow Flowers. These are people who have made an art of beauty and perfection. The forefront of any fashion trend. They’re hard to impress.

But Jimin’s done it.

Even Seokjin has an eyebrow raised, and as the housemother of one of the most successful Flowerhouses in the city, that’s a feat. Jimin does a slow spin.

“You look very romantic,” Seokjin says. “Like a poem brought to life.”

Jimin smiles.

“Romantic, yeah! Maybe you’ll fall in love tonight!” Hoseok enthuses.

Jimin’s smile drops. “Don’t you have a booking to get ready for?”

“I’m going, I’m going!” Hoseok disappears into the depths of the. house.

“You’re so mean to him,” Seokjin says.

“You’re smiling.”

Seokjin shrugs. “It’s entertaining to see your feathers ruffled.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, carefully putting his robes back on. “Don’t wait up for me,” he says, sweeping out the door.

“Make me proud, my little dove!” Seokjin calls after him.

The carriage ride to the party isn’t long, but it’s uncomfortable because of the awkward way Jimin has to sit. He doesn’t want any of his paint to be smeared. Not yet, at least. The Golden Quarter where all the rich live is right next to Jimin. He looks out towards the Spiral in the middle of the city, the lights illuminating the ornate building at the top. He’s often called up to the court, but not today. He can see all of the temples that line the Spiral – there’s hundreds of them, from tiny to enormous, one for each of the gods. Jimin’s own patron god, the Divine Verdant, has one of the biggest temples perched on the edge of the Spiral, looking out over the rest of the city. He should go to make an offering.

One day, maybe.

Lord Lim Sunghoo’s manor is one of the bigger ones. Despite being close to the centre of a very populous city, it has an enormous garden leading up to the manor itself. Vines cover the driveway in an archway, lit up by lanterns. When Jimin’s been here during the day, butterflies and birds have flitted through it. Now, the night creates a mysterious atmosphere, the sound of stringed instruments drifting over in the breeze.

The carriage stops and before Jimin gets the chance to, the door is opened by the butler.

“Jimin!” the lord himself says, coming forward with his arms wide. “Darling! You look magical as always.” He gives his hand to help Jimin down. As soon as Jimin pulls his veil back, he sweeps him into a hug. Jimin smiles, allowing the kiss on his cheek as he draws back. Sunghoo looks him up and down properly. “Although… hmm, I did think you might be a little more… elaborate? Not that you’re not naturally stunning.”

Jimin laughs, patting his cheek. “Don’t worry, my lord. I haven’t disappointed you so far, have I?”

“Of course not!” Sunghoo acts like it’s a personal offence for Jimin to say that. So dramatic.

“And I always exceed your expectations?”

“Of course!”

“Then trust me. You won’t be disappointed.”

Jimin quite likes Sunghoo. He’s dramatic and over-the-top, but he’s easy enough to please. Jimin never has to work hard to satisfy him, in bed or out.

Jimin perches his hand on Sunghoo’s arm and lets himself be led into the party. It’s just as extravagant as the man himself, set in an open area of the garden. There’s a stream trickling through the middle that everyone has to delicately step over. There’s even animals roaming about, as if they really are in a forest instead of the city. As opposed to the decadence of the setting, the courtiers are dressed in their usual modest fashion – covered from neck to angle, layers of robes. All the colours are pale, reflecting the season. It makes for a picturesque scene. The court has always dressed modestly – it’s the Flowers that get to show off the wealth and extravagance of whoever hired them.

Jimin stays on Sunghoo’s arm, smiling and conversing with his guests. There’s several other Flowers in attendance, dressed much more extravagantly than Jimin. None of them are real competition, except for maybe the one from the Night Grove – that Flowerhouse has several well-established Flowers, and is often seen in comparison with the Dovecote. The woman has huge rainbow feathers attached to her back, fanning out around her in a mimicry of a peacock. Which would be amazing and astonishing, except Jimin had already done something similar and better last summer. He’d started a whole trend of feathers. And on closer inspection – her feathers are already clumping together, showing their cheapness.

“Jimin,” she greets, smiling at him. “Lovely to see you. Are you feeling well? You’re looking a little… plain.”

Jimin smiles prettily back. “Perfectly fine. Just storing my energy for my performance later.” Which is a nice little reminder that Jimin was booked by the host, not her. “Those feathers are so unique – what are they, chicken?”

Her eyes light up but before she can reply with more sweet poison, Sunghoo is moving on to his next guest. And so it goes on, Jimin losing himself to the rhythm of it. It’s all familiar to him. He likes the ebb and flow of conversation. The key is to get the other talking about themself – one of the first lessons Seokjin taught him. The simplest way to get someone to like you is ask questions about them and pretend to be interested. It’s worked well enough for Jimin so far.

Finally, the strings hush and Sunghoo’s many servants start dimming the lanterns. That’s Jimin’s cue. He breaks away from Sunghoo with a final squeeze and approaches a flat patch in the middle of the garden. The grass is longer here. It’s surrounded by a ring, blocked off so no one else has ventured in. The crowd quietens as Jimin steps over the ring, kneeling down in the centre. His robes billow on the ground around him.

He waits until the night is silent. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches a servant lean forward and drop a match into the ring.

Whoosh!

Flames leap up around him. Jimin stands and his outer layers slide off. The crowd oohs and Jimin suppresses a smile. The flames flicker over the vines curling up Jimin’s legs and sides. The veil still covers his hair. He holds still for a moment. Can see the faces straining forwards, catching the light.

Then he moves.

The dance is an old one – a tradition. The Veil Dance. It’s what makes or breaks a Flower. And Jimin is good at it – has studied dance for years, pushed through countless injuries, the unending pain of his leg. He’s one of the most sought after Flowers for a reason. Perhaps only Hoseok and a few others rival him.

But painted like this – he’s a step above the rest. With the flames and his movements, it looks like the vines are moving. He’d worked on the designs with Yoongi. They’d picked the lines carefully – which muscles to paint to create the illusion of movement as Jimin dances.

The veil flicks through the air, tossed up. Jimin spins, a leg kicking out. Grabs the veil when he’s almost upside-down, throws it up again. This time he leaps through the air, coming back to the centre of the circle. The servant leans forward again, throwing a powder on the fire in front of Jimin. It flares green. Jimin holds his hand up and the veil drops perfectly into his fingers.

There’s a hush for a moment. Then the crowd cheers. Uproarious clapping. Servants race around, brightening the lanterns again and dousing Jimin’s fire with sand. Sunghoo helps him over the ring, all smiles.

“I never doubted you, darling!” he says. His hands wander a bit more purposefully over Jimin’s body, dipping under where the cloth grazes against his ribs. “How far does the painting go?”

“You’ll find out soon enough, won’t you?” Jimin gives him a coquettish smile, then they’re overwhelmed by others. Eyes are hungry on Jimin and he blossoms under the attention. He fields all the questions with a bright laugh, flirting his way through, but not too much – he’s been booked by Sunghoo for the night, after all.

All the attention is on him. His muscles feel warm from the dance and the adrenaline is still in his veins. This is what he lives for. He thinks of Hoseok’s stupid little remark from earlier – maybe you’ll fall in love tonight.

Ridiculous. Idiotic. Jimin has felt love’s touch only once and it was enough to leave him with lasting scars. Barely able to walk. Told he’d never dance again. But worse than that – alone. Abandoned.

So, no. Love is a stupid fantasy but one that Jimin’s learnt to profit off. He floats through the crowd and makes people fall in love with him. He weaponises it. If they’re stupid enough to think they’re in love with him because of his pretty face and bright smiles, why shouldn’t he take advantage of that?

The night turns into a blur. Wine, covetous eyes. Music and more dance, deep into the night. Then comes the second half of Jimin’s job as Sunghoo pulls him into his room, slips the silk off his shoulders, kisses down the flowers on his back. Jimin gasps and whines, lets Sunghoo take what he wants. Plays his part to perfection. And enjoys it – watching Sunghoo’s face, anticipating what he wants, fulfilling it. Sunghoo has always been easy. He likes his bedmates to be submissive and shy. Cute. He likes taking care of Jimin and feeling needed, and Jimin is happy to help him. He even takes Jimin in his mouth afterwards, and his moans are a little less fake then.

After, the sweat dries on Jimin’s skin. Sunghoo is collapsed next to him, light snores coming from his open mouth. Jimin has tiny red marks dotting his collarbones – an annoying habit of Sunghoo’s. But he’s one of the wealthiest lords in the city and a dandy in every other way, so Jimin allows it.

Jimin’s body is still thrumming from the night. So many of his clients pass out after sex, but Jimin’s never had the same luxury. He’s a terrible sleeper, anyway. His dreams are haunted by a pair of wide, staring eyes that he’d like to forget about. Sometimes, it’s easier to stay awake, but that means his sleep schedule is all over the place. Not a terrible thing in his line of work, at least.

Jimin sighs at the ceiling. He can feel the paint smeared across his skin. The sheets are filthy, which is a shame when they’re such high quality. Not that Sunghoo cares. He could probably buy enough of the same quality for every household in Sariye and it wouldn’t make much of a dent in his fortune. All this wealth, and for what? Being born into the right family?

Jimin may be disgustingly wealthy now, since he finished paying back his debt and went through the Emancipation Ceremony, but at least he worked for it.

He pushes himself upright. His head is going in useless circles. There’s no chance he’ll be getting any sleep while covered in paint and bodily fluids. He slides out of the bed, slipping into Sunghoo’s bathing chamber. He winces as he scrubs the paint off. It’s stuck to his skin and fine hairs. He may be shaved in a lot of places, and it’s easy enough to scrub off from there, but who knew he had hair elsewhere?

His skin is pink by the time he’s done, colours swirling down the drain. He grabs one of Sunghoo’s inner robes, shivers at the rich silk on his skin. Pads his way out of the bathroom. Sunghoo is still a motionless form on the bed. Jimin ends up slipping outside, into the garden.

The area where the party was is on the other side of the house, so Jimin can’t hear if the servants are still cleaning up. The night is deceptively quiet. If he concentrates hard enough, he can hear the faint sounds of the city in the distance. The quiet is eerie to him. The street outside the Dovecote never truly sleeps and noise is part of the atmosphere. Here? It’s strange.

He ends up on a marble bench, hugging his legs to his chest. He looks up at the stars—

No. Not that.

His head tilts off to the side. A gentle breeze makes the flowers sway. It’s cool on his skin, which is still beaded with water. The moon is bright tonight. The full moon will be soon, and all the celebrations it brings along with it. The Dovecote always goes all out for it. Celebrations, decadence, full on hedonism. It’s always a fun night.

He hears something flutter. An owl? He glances around. He hasn’t seen one in the city before—

His heart stops.

A paper star.

Spinning in the air.

It floats above Jimin’s head, bobbing gently. Jimin can’t tear his eyes away. It should drop. It’s just paper. But it stays, hovering in the air like it’s dangling from an unseen string.

Jimin’s hand snatches out. He opens his fist – the star is crumpled on his palm. As he watches, it uncrumples itself. Drifts up. Up, up. Stops at the same position as before, spinning just above his head.

Jimin stumbles up. Realises he’s trembling. The star bobs up, following his movement. Jimin spins around.

“Hey!” he calls out. “This isn’t funny!” His voice is shaking. His hands are shaking. There’s a roaring in his ears.

There’s no reply. No movement around him. Just the silence and the faint fluttering sound of the paper star. It’s still floating above Jimin’s head, as if it’s daring him to look up at the stars.

The only way to get a star to float like that is illegal. Not that that ever stopped anyone with the power. It’s too addicting. Or so Jimin’s seen. In the innocent folds of the paper, part of a person’s soul resides. Making it spin and float and jump – whatever the soul-eater commanded.

Jimin has met a few soul-eaters in his time. But only one that would make a star for him.

“Come out!” he hisses, spinning around. The paper star spins with him. He curses and grabs it from the air, ripping it apart. The paper goes lifeless. Glides to the floor. The soul departed from it without being returned to whoever imbued the object.

Bumps ripple down his back.

The moon doesn’t feel bright anymore.

He runs back into the manor, slamming the door closed. Pulls the curtains across the huge windows. Stands there trembling for several long minutes. Waiting.

For what?

For anything. Another sign. Something more than a wisp of paper in the dead of the night.

Or. Waiting for him.

Jimin stays frozen. He watches the curtains slowly become outlined with pre-dawn light.

No one sweeps in. No more stars.

From the bed, Sunghoo shifts.

“Jimin?” he mumbles, voice croaky.

Jimin flinches. Then forces himself to stumble forward. Back into bed.

“Sorry,” he says, voice soft. “Just washing off the paint.”

“Mm.” Sunghoo rolls into him. “You’re freezing.”

“Sorry,” Jimin repeats dumbly.

“Come closer.” Sunghoo wraps his arms around Jimin, pulling him in tight. Jimin goes, forcing his body to relax.

Sunghoo falls back asleep, breath disturbing Jimin’s hair. Slowly, Jimin’s skin warms.

His heart remains like ice.

The old injury in his leg aches.

Jimin gets back to his room by midday, aching and crusty-eyed. He’s glad for his veil. It allows him to walk right past everyone and up to his room with only a few casual greetings. He avoids any questions about last night. He feels like he’s floating. Drifting. He’d slept fitfully, barely at all.

He slams his door closed, flicking the lock. Leans against it.

The paper star.

No. Nothing else happened. It was just a coincidence. It’s impossible. He wouldn’t—

No.

His heartbeat is too loud in his ears. Maybe being alone was a bad idea. His fingers curl up into fists. He can’t—

Bangbang.

Jimin jumps halfway across the room.

“Mimi! Lunch?”

It’s one of the other Flowers. The door shakes.

“Hey, why is this locked? What’re you doing in there? Are you masturba—”

Jimin throws open the door.

“If I was, I wouldn’t lock the door,” he says. “Stop being a pest.”

The Flower grins at him, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him down the hallway. They pass all the fancy rooms the clients see, heading to the back. The room they eat in is plain, a little worn at the edges. It’s a nice change to the opulence of the rest of the Dovecote and Sunghoo’s manor. Grounding.

“My star dove, shining in the night sky!” Seokjin calls, arms throwing wide. He’s at the head of the table and almost knocks out poor Jungkook, who is frantically putting food on the table. Those already seated descend like wolves. You rarely get to eat while on a booking.

Jimin winces at Seokjin’s wording, but takes the seat he’s indicating next to him. Yoongi is on his other side and gives him a nod.

“Did the paint work?” a Flower across from asks. “Tell me all their reactions. In detail! Don’t you dare miss out a second!”

Jimin sighs, but a reluctant smile tugs at his mouth. Already, the night seems a little further away. Exhaustion still weighs on him like a cloak, but the energy of the lunch table revitalises him. He retells the night as he eats and realises he’s ravenous. Sunghoo had feed him some fruit this morning before he’d left, but it hadn’t been much. Strength flows back into his limbs.

And he thinks – well. It was probably just a coincidence, right? It probably hadn’t even been floating. He’d drank quite a bit on an empty stomach. Maybe it was some bit of whimsical decoration that’d drifted over while the servants were packing up. Jimin just needs to get a proper sleep and relax.

He eats his fill and enjoys the gossip of his family, muscles finally unclenching.

Until something catches his attention.

“What was that?” Jimin asked, snapping around to look at the girl sitting diagonally across from him.

“Uh… me?”

“Yes you. What did you just say?” Jimin can hear the impatience in his tone and smiles to soften it.

“Oh. Just that they caught another soul-eater last night. They’re strung up next to the marketplace at the base of the Spiral so if you’re feeling squeamish, take the other route.”

“Or if you’re feeling bloodthirsty, check it out,” says the girl next to her with a giggle.

“I can’t believe there was one in the city,” the first girl says, shuddering. “They could’ve stolen any of us from our beds!”

“Don’t spread fairy tales, that’s not what soul-eaters do,” Jimin says, frown pinching his brows together.

“Oh? And you’re the master on this topic now?”

Jimin leans across the table. “They don’t need to steal people from their beds. All they need to do is kill you to take your soul. But don’t worry, darling, there’s much lovelier souls in the Dovecote they’d steal before yours.”

“Oh hoo!” Seokjin crows. “Feeling a bit catty this morning, Minnie?”

Jimin glances over at him. Seokjin’s staring at him, eyebrow raised, and Jimin cringes. He plops back onto the bench, muttering, “Sorry,” to the girl.

The table is quiet for a moment

“Well he’s not wrong,” the second girl says with a grin, nudging her friend. “I saw what you did to that client with the piss fetish. Your soul has got to be a little stained after that.”

And the tension breaks. The girl snorts. “Oh, as if yours is any better? What’d last night’s client ask to stick up your ass again?”

The conversation flows once more but Jimin’s appetite is gone. He pushes back, throwing a smile at Yoongi’s questioning look, and leaves as quickly as he can without being suspicious.

Another soul-eater strung up near the marketplace. Each time Jimin hears about it, his heart stops. He knows he’s in a different city now, but it still makes his breathing stop until he can verify it’s not him. So right now, his mind is empty – he just needs to see. He needs to check.

“Jimin!” someone calls out when he’s almost at the door. “Your veil?”

Jimin curses. His fucking hair. He can’t go out in public showing his coloured hair. He spins about and races up the stairs. Bangs into his room, the door falling shut behind him. His veil has been thrown across his bed, but he doesn’t want to out himself as a Flower. He ends up at his cupboard, rooting around for a silk scarf to hide his hair with. His usual must be in the wash. He pulls out a navy one instead, spinning around—

Screams.

But only for a moment. His veil whips off the bed, shoving into his mouth and gagging any sound. Jimin falls backwards into his cupboard, hands coming up to grapple with it. But the veil has wrapped itself around the back of his head and isn’t budging, no matter how Jimin’s fingers scramble.

“Sorry! Sorry,” the man on his bed says, eyes wide and earnest. He’s cross-legged, hands relaxed on his knees. His hair falls into his eyes in messy waves. The face isn’t familiar at first – too strong, too sharp, too handsome – but the more Jimin stares with wild eyes, the more familiar he becomes. Starting with those eyes. It’s the same intensity from when they were young. Piercing right into Jimin’s chest. To his soul. “If you promise not to scream, I’ll release you, okay?”

Jimin sucks in a breath through his nose. Nods. If he didn’t have the cupboard propping him up from behind, he doesn’t think he’d still be standing.

Taehyung beams and— Taehyung. It’s Taehyung. After eight long years, he’s here. Smiling at Jimin from his bed as if he’d just been gone for a day and not eight fucking years. As if the last time Jimin saw him wasn’t tear-stained, filled with pain, Taehyung’s back as he walked away. Jimin is—

He’s furious.

The veil drops from Jimin’s mouth and shoots back to Taehyung. Taehyung touches it and he must take back the soul inside of it, because it immediately drops onto the bed. Lifeless once more.

Jimin doesn’t give a shit. He’s leaping forwards, knife in hand. He crashes into Taehyung, stabbing down—

Taehyung bats his hand away easily. Within a blink, Jimin is thrown onto his back. He sinks into the plush bed. Taehyung kneels above him, one hand holding his knife hand down.

Taehyung smiles. His fingers are warm on his wrist. Body solid above his. Hair falling about his face, curtaining them in.

“That’s not very nice,” he says, voice deep and smooth. Deeper than Jimin remembers. His deep, deep eyes twinkle at him. “I already apologised.”

Jimin snarls. His knee slams into Taehyung’s crotch. Taehyung yelps like a cat, crumpling over. Jimin kicks him onto the ground. Thump. He scrambles off the bed. He keeps it warily between them. Taehyung has pushed himself up, but is still hunched over.

“Jimin.” He pouts, eyes round. “That was mean.”

“What the fuck did you think would happen?” Jimin’s cheat is heaving. He holds the knife out in front of himself and ignores the way it shakes.

“Well… I thought you’d be happy, for one. Once you got over the initial shock.”

“Happy?” Jimin spits. “You— I—” Jimin tries to find the words, but nothing is coming out. Years of becoming the perfect conversationalist and a few seconds in Taehyung’s presence strips him of it.

“Well, look!” Taehyung pulls something out of his pocket, opening his hand. A paper star rests on it, identical to the one from last night. His eyes flash black for a moment, then the paper star starts spinning. Lifts up into the air. “Did you mean to tear up the other one? No matter! Here’s a new one!”

It was always his favourite trick. As much as he’d ever used his soul-eater powers back then. Or so Jimin had thought.

The paper star bobs over to him.

“I don’t want—” He swipes at it but the star jumps up, avoiding his angry hands. “I don’t want your stupid star!”

“Aw, why not?”

“I don’t— ugh!” Jimin gives up trying to catch it. There’s a self-satisfied twinkle in Taehyung’s eyes that he hates. “Get out!”

The twinkle disappears.

“Huh?”

“Get out! Leave! You can’t— I don’t want you here.”

Taehyung blinks several times.

“But… I’m back. For you.”

A shiver goes down Jimin’s spine.

“I don’t care.”

Taehyung straightens up. “I have money, now,” he says. “Enough to buy out whatever your debt is. You can leave this place and we can—”

“Get out,” Jimin hisses between clenched teeth.

“What?”

“You think I need to be saved?” Jimin advances around the bed. “That I’ve been imprisoned by the awful Flowerhouse, waiting for someone strong and rich to rescue me?”

“Uh…” Taehyung’s eyes are wide. “Well… uh. No?”

It sounds more like he’s saying what he thinks Jimin wants to hear.

“I’m the top Flower in Sariye,” Jimin hisses. “I am showered with gifts on a daily basis. I’m wealthy enough to buy out my debt five times over, if I hadn’t already paid it off years ago. I choose to be here. And I’m proud of where I am. I crawled my way out of the hospital bed you abandoned me on years ago and you think I’ve been waiting for you?”

Tears are gathered at the corners of Jimin’s eyes. He’s so furious. All he can see is Taehyung’s smug fucking face as he assumed Jimin need rescuing.

“I—”

“Get the fuck out! You don’t get to— ugh!” He tosses the knife at Taehyung, who doesn’t move. The handle thunks harmlessly onto his shoulder, then clunks to the ground. “Leave!”

Taehyung’s eyes don’t waver from him. Jimin can’t read his expression. He’s a stranger. He’s Taehyung but— he’s unfamiliar. Jimin doesn’t know him.

“You’re upset.”

“No shit.”

“I think I should—”

Knockknock.

“Mimi? You okay in there?” It’s Hoseok’s annoying voice. “I heard some thumping and, well, you can do what you want to do, of course, but I just want to make sure you’re okay—”

“I’m fine,” Jimin calls back. “Go away.”

“Okay!” Hoseok says cheerfully. “Have a good afternoon!”

Hoseok’s footsteps thump away. Jimin stays staring Taehyung down.

“Don’t make me ask again,” Jimin finally says into the silence.

Taehyung’s eyes narrow.

“I’ll go now,” he says. “But I’m not leaving you.”

“Again, you mean?” Jimin gives a bitter laugh. “Sure.”

“I mean it.”

Jimin firms his jaw and doesn’t say anything. Taehyung bends down and picks up Jimin’s knife, placing it gently on the bed. Then he crosses to the window, throwing one leg out.

He looks back.

“I’ve missed you, Jimin,” he says with a smile. Then he drops out of the window.

Jimin’s heart goes to his throat before he remembers – soul-eater. Taehyung is fine. Taehyung has been fine the whole time, apparently. While Jimin’s mind has gone to everything from dead in a ditch to a Flower in another city, he hadn’t thought he’d just be— fine. Normal. Swaggering back into Jimin’s life like he hadn’t torn him apart when he’d abandoned him the first time.

Jimin’s back hits the door. His knees go nerveless. He slides down and hits the ground with a thump. The stupid fucking paper star glides down to stay at the same height above his head.

He stares sightlessly out at his room. It looks the same as it did when he’d left yesterday. Makeup scattered across the table. A fur rug thrown across the window chair Jimin likes to snuggle into when he can’t sleep. The gauzy curtains across the window, swaying in the breeze. Sunshine peeking happily into the room.

But he feels completely different.

And he has no idea how to handle it.

“—Jimin.”

Jimin jolts, blinking back to himself. “Huh? What?”

Namjoon peers at him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says automatically.

“Are you sure?” Namjoon’s head tilts, eyes crinkled in kind concern.

“Of course I’m sure. Why?” His eyes narrow. “Are you saying I look terrible, Namjoon?”

“No! No, you always look very dignified—”

“Dignified? You just examined my crotch for spots. How is dignified a compliment?” Jimin sits up with a sniff, twitching his robe back into place.

“It’s a compliment because you looked very dignified throughout it. You’re beautiful, Jimin, of course you are, but—”

Jimin leans in close, lowering his voice. “Then you’d like to help my afternoon go a little faster?” He tilts his head. “I’d even give you a discount for being such a good doctor.”

Namjoon blinks very rapidly.

“Um, ah, well, Jimin um— you’re a lovely person, both inside and out—”

“What a nice compliment.” Jimin shuffles a little closer. His shoulder drops, robe ‘accidentally’ slipping off. “Please, keep going.”

“—and you’re beautiful! Very beautiful! And I respect you! And your work! You’re so talented—”

“Mhm.” Jimin’s smile grows. “Go on.”

“—and! You’re very hard-working. I see that and acknowledge that! But— well, you see—”

“You’re still in love with Seokjin.” Jimin hops off the table, fixing his robe, completely unbothered. “How boring of you.”

“I am,” Namjoon says with a grave nod. “I think I always will be, regardless of if he returns my affections. But if I were not, you’d be my first choice, Jimin.”

Jimin peers suspiciously at him. “Are you sure about that? Do you just say that to everyone?”

“I swear.” Namjoon’s face is solemn. “Just you.”

“Good,” Jimin sniffs. “Keep it that way.”

“But Jimin, my original question still stands. Are you feeling okay? Has your leg been playing up?”

Jimin didn’t get much sleep last night. He’d declined doing viewings that evening and had spent the night staring at any window he was near. The stupid star had run out of power about halfway through the night, flopping down onto his face. He’d gone to tear it up again then— couldn't. Had placed it on his bedside table instead.

“Am I all clear?” Jimin asks instead, raising an imperious eyebrow.

“Yes, but I’m still concerned about—”

“Thank you for your hard work, doctor,” Jimin says, giving his best flirty smile. He trails his fingers across Namjoon’s chest as he strides past him. “Jungkook!” he yells.

The poor boy almost falls over from fright.

“U-um y-y-y-yes?”

“The doctor’s ready for his next patient. Get to fetching.” He makes shooing motions at Jungkook.

“Yes! Right away!” The boy bows several times, then scampers off.

Namjoon follows him out, still annoyingly persistent.

“Jimin—”

“I have shopping to get to. Thanks for the check up!”

Jungkook is leading the next Flower down and that distracts Namjoon enough for Jimin to make his escape. He heads up to his room, sighing. Namjoon is so fucking persistant. Jimin should’ve put more makeup on to hide the circles under his eyes. His face always has a tendency to go puffy and betray him when he doesn’t get any sleep.

When he enters his room, he cautiously looks around. The window is still locked. He pads over to it, frowning. The single pink hair he’d stuck across the window is still in place. It hadn’t been opened. He breathes out, shoulders relaxing, then gets changed into something more subtle. His hair gets tucked away completely beneath a scarf. Flowers are the only ones with coloured hair and it’s a dead giveaway. He’d rather not be fawned over and scrutinised while doing his shopping.

All covered up, he heads out of the Dovecote. The street outside is busy with people. Nighttime brings the real crowd of revellers to the Entertainment District, but the Dovecote and other Flowerhouses get clients at any time of the day. It’s more of a mix of people, now – many other workers like Jimin out doing errands. Some Flowers gliding down the street – everyone gives them a wide berth. Jimin weaves his way through the crowd, obscure, moving away from the Dovecote. Sariye is like a giant wheel, constantly expanding outwards as the city-state booms. It’s divided into six districts, all encircling the seventh district in the very centre – the Spiral with all the temples, leading up to the palace of the court and the two kings.

It means that the further you get from the centre, the less opulence you see. Some days Jimin likes to head into the Golden Quarter to do his shopping, brushing shoulders with the city’s elite, but not today. He heads to the market that’s right on the edge of the Entertainment District and the Bends. The market is always easy to find – follow the commotion. Vendors yell from their stores, people almost standing on top of each other haggling.

And then there’s the pervasive smell of the Bends, which is what you get when you think it’s a good idea to build on a swamp.

Jimin weaves between the stalls, hunting down what he wants to buy. He finds some more paints for Yoongi to replace the ones he’d used and grabs a few more colours – he has more ideas he wants to try before everyone else does his paint trend to death. He finds his favourite sweets stall, buying several bags of nuts and hard candies. They’re good to bribe others with.

He’s in the middle of perusing a stall that’s selling interesting chains when he feels a presence by his side.

“Not interested,” he says without looking up.

“Are you sure about that?”

Jimin whirls around. The voice shouldn’t be familiar again to him already but— it is. It’s been playing in his thoughts constantly.

Taehyung stands before him, easy smile on his face. He’s empty-handed, which is suspicious in a marketplace. But of course he’s not there to buy anything.

Jimin’s lips thin. “Was I not clear enough before? Leave me alone.”

“What do you mean?” Taehyung’s shock is over-the-top and ridiculous. “I’m just here to do my shopping.”

“Yeah? How’s that going for you so far?” He looks very pointedly at Taehyung’s empty hands.

Taehyung peers past Jimin’s shoulder instead of answering. “Oooh. I wouldn’t mind seeing you in this,” he says, flicking a finger at one. It’s a shiny gold, though there’s no way it’s real gold. Not here. It looks like it would attach to his neck, then drop down to his waist, with several fake gems along the waistline. The vendor sees Taehyung’s interest and jumps forward.

“Would you like to try it on?” the vendor asks. “It would look lovely on you! Make you look like a true Flower!”

“Yes please,” Taehyung says.

“No,” Jimin says. “Thank you, but no,” he says to the vendor, then grabs Taehyung’s arm and hauls him away.

“If you wanted to hold my hand, you could’ve just said so.”

Jimin drops Taehyung’s arm like he’s been burned.

“I only want you to leave me alone.” He walks through the crowd, no destination in mind. Just away from Taehyung.

Taehyung still strolls unbothered next to him.

“That’s not very nice,” he says. “Those bags look heavy. Let me help you.”

Taehyung’s hands reach out. His fingertips graze the bags before Jimin twists away.

“I’m fine,” he hisses.

“You don’t look very fine.”

“How would you even know? Maybe I look like this all the time. You wouldn’t know.”

“You didn’t have such dark circles under your eyes the other night.” Taehyung’s voice turns thoughtful. “But you were wearing more makeup then, so maybe I couldn’t see them? Perhaps you’re right.”

Jimin hadn’t been wearing makeup when Taehyung had crept into his room.

“You were at Sunghoo’s?” As soon as Jimin says this, he thinks – well, obviously. He left him the star. But the whole time?

“Yes. No. Wait, who’s Sunghoo? The foppish one?”

“He’s not foppish.”

“Looked pretty foppish to me.” Taehyung’s head tilts to the side. Jimin can feel his eyes on him like a weight. “But maybe you like that now.”

Had Taehyung seen him— no, he’s not going to follow that thought. And he has nothing to be ashamed about, anyway. Taehyung has just got his head in a spin.

“It doesn’t matter what I like. He’s a good client.”

“It matters to me what you like. Tell me.”

“I’m not— I’m not doing this! Go away.”

“You’re not being very welcoming.” Jimin can see Taehyung’s pout out the corner of his eye. “This isn’t how I imagined it going.”

“Oh yeah? How did you imagine it going?”

“Well first of all, you’d be happy to—”

“Happy?” Jimin snaps, whirling around and coming to a stop. Taehyung blinks innocently back at him. “Why the fuck would I be happy? You’re years too late for that.”

Taehyung’s throat moves in a swallow. He’s wearing some kind of black ribbon that bobs with it.

“Well, um. We were kids then—”

“Right! Of course! Conscience cleared! Sorry, Taehyung, you’re right! I’m ecstatic to see you!”

“I don’t know if you want to hear it, but I am sorry for putting you in danger back then—”

“I don’t give a shit about that,” Jimin hisses, waving his hand. “I just want you to stop bothering me! I’m not interested!”

Taehyung blinks several times. “Well. Don’t you have anything you want to ask me? At all?”

Jimin’s lips thin, teeth clenching. His first response is to tell him to fuck off again. But. Maybe there is one thing he can bear to ask.

“Where have you been for the past eight years?”

Taehyung looks back at him. His eyes are imperceptibly deep. People flow past them, but Taehyung takes up Jimin’s whole vision.

Taehyung’s voice is serious when he replies.

“I can’t tell you that.”

Jimin scoffs. “Of course you can’t. Of course! How fortuitous!”

“Jimin. I did mean when I said I’m sorry—”

“I don’t give a shit about your apology.” Jimin steps forward. He hates that he has to look up to Taehyung, even if it’s just a little. “I want you to stop following me. Forget you ever knew me! Just like you have for the past eight years! Okay?”

Taehyung looks at him. Jimin hates the way something curls in his chest at that stare, hates the way his body strains towards him.

Unexpectedly, Taehyung says, “I saw you dance that night. You’re better than I ever dreamed. I’m glad you still can.”

Jimin can’t name the emotion filling his chest, but it’s making it hard for him to breathe. His hands clench, nails biting into his palms. He digs them in harder, tries to use the pinpricks of pain to ground himself.

Taehyung stands before him, immeasurably beautiful and piercing Jimin with that familiar gaze. And— it’s too much.

“Don’t follow me,” Jimin gets out, then spins and makes an escape. He ducks through the crowd, dodging people easily even though his gaze is obscured by tears. He angrily dashes them away. Taehyung doesn’t deserve them. He didn’t deserve them then, and he doesn’t deserve them now.

He just wants Taehyung to stay far away from him. Because Jimin’s learnt that the hard way – Taehyung can leave. Easily, apparently. And Jimin is never going through that heartbreak again. He’s stronger than that now. He won’t.

When he gets back to his room, he upends his bags on his bed. He puts everything away—

There’s something else in the pile. Something he definitely didn’t buy.

A little pot of salve. The label is filled with cramped handwriting but one phrase stands out to him: pain relief.

Jimin throws it to the other side of the room.

A knock on his door.

“Come in,” Jimin says. His voice is a little muffled from the stretch he’s in – laid out across his leg, muscles straining pleasantly.

“Are you r— Jimin.” It’s Yoongi, voice turning to horror at the end. “How many times have I— I don’t want to see you— doing—”

“Don’t be such a prude,” Jimin says, grinning as he sits up then bends over his other leg. “Besides, I’m not even doing anything sexual. It’s just stretching.”

“What kind of stretching?” Yoongi has his eyes covered.

“How can a Flower be so prudish? And also— that’s offensive that you don’t want to see! We’ve had sex!”

“And if you pay me, we can do it again.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “I’m stretching my leg out. Calm down.”

Yoongi still only peeks out through his fingers. When he sees that Jimin really is just doing a harmless stretch, no ‘offensive’ parts showing, he heaves a sigh of relief and his hands drop to his sides.

“Good. Are you ready to head downstairs?”

“Is it full yet?” Jimin wants to make a proper entrance.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Yes.”

“Great!” He pops up to his feet. Yoongi blinks languidly down at his outfit – he’s technically fully covered. But the robe is sheer at certain angles, showing his body beneath. And he’s not naked. Technically. He’s wearing several chains that cross his chest and hips, dangling down his thighs. Much better quality than the ones in the market yesterday. And his choice has absolutely nothing to do with that, either. It’s just…

A coincidence.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Yoongi asks dubiously. He’s in a beautiful deep blue robe, loose at the neck so it shows a deep-V of pearly skin. Yoongi’s version of skimpy.

Jimin ignores him, sailing over to the mirror to fix up his hair. It’s plaited back from his face, showing off the crushed glitter on his face and all his angles. It’s his favourite way of doing his hair. Why’s he doing it tonight? No reason.

He goes and checks the lock on the window, rattling it a few times for good measure.

“What are you doing?”

Jimin ignores him again. “Okay, ready!” He strides past him. “Hurry up, you’re making me late.”

Yoongi sighs behind him.

It’s the night of the full moon. Which means the Dovecote is throwing its regular Full Moon Party. It’s the most exclusive party out of the other Flowerhouses, a fact that Seokjin never shuts up about. There’s an entry fee, but it’s the one night the clients don’t have to pay a booking fee. Jimin still gets paid, of course, but he has a bit more freedom – can choose whoever he wants to take back to his bed. If he even wants to.

The music is loud as soon as they leave the room. There’s shouting, raucous cries. It’s not even midnight yet. They descend the stairs and Jimin takes in the scene – the theme is winter paradise. Fake snow is piled up on the floor, the walls covered with silk that shimmers white in the breeze. Fake icicles dangle from the roof. There’s even a snowman in the corner – definitely more solid than an actual snowman, since there’s a woman leaning against it with a Flower on his knees before her. They’re somewhat hidden by the snowman, so they at least tried to find somewhere discreet. Jimin loves it. Yoongi sighs.

All the rooms on the lower floor have been transformed into a snowy landscape. The back doors are flung open, leading out into the garden which is also decorated in Seokjin’s usual over-the-top fashion.

As Jimin moves through the party, he can feel eyes on him. He always has eyes on him on nights like this and he loves it. Usually. He loves the way people look at him – with desire in their eyes, jealousy. But tonight, it just feels— not right. He glances around, trying not to look too paranoid. Can’t see Taehyung anywhere. He’d stand out – he’s the kind of beautiful that has an aura that draws people in. He wouldn’t be able to be unobtrusive.

“Darlings! Don’t you both look like the most magical snowflakes!” Seokjin sails over, the crowd parting for him. He’s in a fairly modest robe, with a train that extends far behind him. His hair, normally dark blue, is crusted with silver and arranged in a complicated style above his head. Jimin has no idea what it’s meant to be, but it looks fancy.

“Seokjin.” Jimin leans in to kiss him on the cheek. “I like whatever’s going on with your hair.”

“Isn’t it glorious? I’m a snowflake!”

“Are you sure about that?” Yoongi asks, and Seokjin swats him.

“Brats! Both of you. Go earn your living, stop bothering me,” he says, even though he was the one that approached them.

“I need more alcohol for this,” Yoongi says as he watches Seokjin swan through the crowd, latching on and terrorising someone else.

“I’ll be back,” Jimin says, eyes still scanning the crowd. “I just want to check something.”

“What—”

But Jimin has already ducked through the crowd. Several people try to get his attention, but he only smiles flirtily and doesn’t stop. He gets to the front door. Jungkook is guarding it, sitting on a stool with his legs swaying beneath. He jumps up when he sees Jimin. His eyes duck down and he blushes bright red.

Cute.

“Jungkook, do you know if you’ve let in someone called Taehyung? Strong eyebrows? Stares a lot? Very handsome?”

Jungkook’s brow furrows. “Um… I don’t— I don’t think so? Not with that name. Eyebrows… there was someone with huge bushy eyebrows? Could that be it?”

“Good-looking?”

Jungkook squints. “Well… it depends on your definition of good-looking, right? So—”

“That’s a no, then.” Jimin nods. His shoulders relax. “Good. Keep up the good work!”

He leaves Jungkook red-faced behind him and sweeps back into the party. Right. Taehyung isn’t here. Maybe he’s finally leaving Jimin alone. Jimin refuses to let Taehyung ruin this night for him, whether he’s here or not. Jimin likes Full Moon Parties. Most of his bookings are formal affairs, dignified. This is just an over-the-top orgy. Jimin needs to let loose and have fun.

He snags a drink and this time when someone tries to get his attention, he leans into it. Smiles flirtily and lets his fingertips graze against their collar. He moves on. Cards his fingers through a woman’s hair – someone who has booked him before. She likes to tie him up. Her eyes gaze over his chains appreciatively. Jimin has several more glasses and fully relaxes. The party blurs pleasantly around him. He shares a kiss with a man, then twirls away when his hand begins to wander up his thigh.

At one point they clear a circle and he performs a dance with Hoseok. No matter Jimin’s personal opinions on the matter, Hoseok is a good dancer and they look good together. He loses his robe somewhere along the way but it’s okay – the night air is refreshing on his skin.

He ends up in the lap of someone for a while, sprawled out and talking to one of the older Flowers. Fingers trace across his ribs and it sends pleasant shivers across his body. He’s happy enough talking for now, though. Yoongi disappeared upstairs with an eager lord a while ago. Seokjin has an instrument in his hand, attempting to play along but doing a poor job of it – no one has the courage to tell him though, and the expressions of the other musicians is very amusing. There’s a group sprawled out on the floor next to Jimin, truly going at it. Jimin twitches his foot away as one of their arms flings out.

That movement reminds him that the man behind him is hard and has been so for a while. He moves his ass around a little more and feels the responding twitch. Maybe? He could be an option.

He ends the conversation with the other Flower and gracefully re-arranges himself so he’s facing the man. His eyes are dark, lips parted as he stares up at Jimin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says and Jimin smiles.

“You’re not bad yourself,” he says, tucking the man’s hair behind his ear. And he is quite handsome. Svelte body, strong jaw. Eyes that pierce into Jimin. His hands run down Jimin’s back, resting above his ass. He kisses Jimin and Jimin leans into it.

But— the eyes. It reminds him of— no. No.

He breaks away.

“Thank you for the comfortable seat,” he says, jumping up before the man can grab him back. “Good luck with that.”

The man groans and Jimin giggles, floating into the crowd again. His laughter fades quickly, though. How fucking annoying. He can’t have anyone that reminds him of Taehyung. Who he doesn’t even want to be thinking about, not on a night like this. A woman, maybe? But no, Jimin’s not really in the mood for that tonight. He wants to be picked up and handled. Wants to be fucked.

He grabs another wine and searches the crowd with narrowed eyes. It’s devolved into pure debauchery now. At least Seokjin has stopped killing everyone’s ears with his playing. There’s several people swimming in the fountain outside. And then—

There. A man that stands a head above those next to him. Muscles that are visible even through his modest robe. The kind that bulge – Jimin wants to sink his teeth into his neck muscles. And best of all – nothing like Taehyung.

Jimin’s eyes stay on him and it doesn’t take long for the man to glance over. Jimin tilts his head to the side, smiling. He doesn’t think the man even says goodbye to his friends before he’s making his way over.

“Hello there,” Jimin purrs. “I’m Jimin.”

“I know who you are.” The man’s voice is gruff. A lovely match to his looks. He’s older than Jimin thought – grey shot through his hair. “I saw you dance.” He steps closer, so Jimin has to crane his neck to look up at him.

“Did you?” Jimin asks, mouth parting in faux-surprise. Of course he saw him dance. Hoseok and he had the entire party enthralled. His fingers trail down the man’s chest. His robe is rumbled – probably already had some fun tonight. “What did you think?”

“I think… you know exactly how good you look.”

Jimin’s smirk widens. “Oh?”

The man is now so close there’s barely any space between them.

“You just want me to compliment you.”

“Maybe.” Jimin’s head tilts to the side. His fingers crawl up, play with the hair at the back of his neck. “Who doesn’t like a compliment? Don’t you think I deserve it?”

“Brat,” the man mutters, then grabs his head and crushes their mouths together. It’s— well. It’s rough, but it’s what Jimin had been after. He’d read the man perfectly. Jimin melts into him, whining softly. The man’s hands clench at his Jimin’s side, one reaching down to grab his ass. Shocking. It’s always his ass that hypnotises men.

“On your knees,” the man growls, pushing down on Jimin’s shoulder.

“Oh!” Jimin says, extra breathy as he falls to his knees. He hides his smirk as he undoes the man’s belt, pushing his robe aside. He’s smaller than he thought. But still nice to wrap his lips around.

Sex has always been easy for Jimin. He’s good at reading others, has always found it easy to be intune with his clients. And he likes doing well. When he’d first started, it’d been a lot more stressful. Always second-guessing himself. Over-analysing. But now his mind can shut off, instinct taking over. It’s not difficult to find out what the man likes.

Jimin’s eyes crack open, hazily looking out at the rest of the party.

He pauses.

Taehyung looks back at him. He’s standing in the crowd, drink in hand, looking like he belongs. His hair is messy in his eyes, but his robe looks expensive. And his eyes are locked onto Jimin.

The man feels Jimin pause, but takes it for something else.

“Up,” he says. Jimin lets himself be man-handled into standing. The delicious haziness is gone. He’s not— Taehyung? Maybe he was just seeing things. Imagining what he wanted to see. Maybe there’d been something extra in one of his drinks. He can’t see him anymore.

He spreads his legs, bending over to lean his arms onto the wall. The man hastily shoves down his undergarments, pushing the chains aside. Jimin had prepared himself earlier, but his breath still hitches when the man slides in. He’s not really paying attention though – his head cranes around. Maybe he really did just imagine—

No. Taehyung is definitely here. He’s sliding through the crowd to lean against the wall. He’s not close to Jimin. If he spoke, Jimin wouldn’t be able to hear him. But it’s still close enough to see every expression on his face.

Jimin should push the man away. Go tell Taehyung to fuck off. He shouldn’t be here. He wasn’t invited. But—

Taehyung’s eyes are dark. His head tilts to the side and Jimin— Jimin unintentionally clenches. The man behind him grunts. His fingers dig into Jimin’s hips.

“A brat,” the man mutters. “Beautiful, beautiful brat.”

He’s thrusting in and— and it’s good. With Jimin bent over, the angle is perfect. But Taehyung is still watching him and Jimin can’t describe the way he’s making him feel. The way it’s all feeling heightened, that Taehyung’s gaze alone is making each thrust even more delicious.

Jimin gasps in a breath and the sound he makes is real. It’s not one of his feigned ones. Not that the man behind him would know the difference.

Taehyung smiles. And it’s so cocky that Jimin just— loses it.

He arches his back, pushing his ass back further.

“That’s it,” he says. He throws his hair back, making eye contact with the man. “You feel so good.”

The man groans, thrusts stuttering. Jimin works his hips back. Then he looks over at Taehyung and bites his lip. See? he wants to say – see how much other’s want me? And you left me behind.

Taehyung’s gaze is intent. His eyes run over Jimin like a physical weight. And then— he moves forward.

Jimin pauses. The man doesn’t notice, his thrusts becoming less rhythmic. Taehyung approaches and his eyes don’t leave Jimin once. Like he’s prowling. Jimin can feel the sweat dripping down his face. Can feel how hard he is between his legs, how much he’s aching for his touch.

Taehyung comes all the way over, stopping so close Jimin could reach out and tug him forwards. The man doesn’t notice, or he doesn’t care.

Taehyung leans in and Jimin is helpless to do anything. Someone else is fucking him but it feels like Taehyung. Taehyung controlling it, Taehyung reaching forwards. One long finger skims down the side of his face.

“Beautiful,” Taehyung murmurs, finger stroking across his bottom lip. It’s wet and swollen from his earlier kisses, so hyper-sensitive it’s like it’s directly attached to his cock. Jimin gasps. “Put your hand on him,” he says, and it takes Jimin a moment to realise he’s not talking to him. “No one likes a selfish lover.”

The man grunts but one clumsy hand comes down to tug at Jimin’s cock. It’s nothing masterful, but the relief is enough to make him sob out a breath. Taehyung’s finger pushes into his mouth and Jimin wraps his lips around it, mindless. He’d wanted to make Taehyung see everything he’d been missing but now— now Taehyung is everywhere, all around. A steady, overwhelming presence.

He can feel his orgasm rising, ratcheting higher. He feels completely helpless. Shaking, trembling.

“Hey.” Taehyung’s voice is sharp. His fingers grab onto Jimin’s chin and Jimin’s eyes snap open – he hadn’t realised he’d closed them. “Eyes open,” Taehyung says and his voice is like smoke again – soft, sinuous. Flowing through Jimin and hitting him right in his chest. Taehyung is doing nothing but standing there but Jimin— Jimin is lost. He lets out a cry as he feels his orgasm taking over but—

Taehyung’s lips cover his, swallowing his cries. Jimin comes and everything goes blurry around him, the only thing he knows is Taehyung in front of him, Taehyung kissing him, sloppy and wet. Taehyung’s fingers on his jaw, cradling him like he’s something precious. Finger stroking softly. The only thing tying him to this world.

He’s coming back to himself when the man behind him grunts and comes, slamming his hips tight into Jimin. Jimin shudders at the heightened feeling.

“You did so good, sweetheart,” Taehyung murmurs, kissing across Jimin’s jaw. It feels like he’s the only thing keeping Jimin standing. “So perfect for me.”

Jimin’s breath shudders out of him.

Then he feels foreign hands on him – the man’s, clutching his hips as he pulls out. He rubs against Jimin’s hole and Jimin leans into Taehyung, aftershocks of pleasure rushing through him.

“Thank you, beautiful,” the man says. He comes close and tilts Jimin’s head away from Taehyung, pressing a kiss to his lips. “You’ll be seeing me very soon. If you accept my booking.”

“Sure,” Jimin says, still not quite back in his right mind. He gives the man a lazy smile. “Thank you.”

The man chuckles, patting him on the ass before leaving. Jimin can feel wetness oozing out of him. It’s not unpleasant. Especially not when he’s still being cradled close by someone, held up by their strength—

Taehyung.

Jimin— Jimin doesn’t— oh no.

The fuck had been amazing but now the haziness is going and he’s realising – it’s Taehyung’s chest he’s leaning on. Taehyung’s mouth he’d just kissed. Taehyung who he’d just put on a performance for, all but begging him to come over and take what’s on offer.

Fuck.

Jimin pushes back.

He stares at Taehyung, eyes too wide. He suddenly feels— foolish. An absolute, desperate fool, panting at the sight of Taehyung. All these years of building himself up into someone he’s proud of – someone powerful – all to be torn apart by the return of Taehyung.

He spins away. Grabs a robe. It’s meant for someone much taller than him and drags on the fake snow floor, but he doesn’t give a shit. He needs any armour he can get. He’s annoyed he didn’t wear a knife like he normally does, no matter how hard it is to hide it.

He gets to the top of the stairs by the time Taehyung catches up with him.

“Jimin,” comes his low voice, hand grabbing Jimin’s.

Jimin spins, tearing from his grasp.

“What?” he hisses. “Did you enjoy that?”

“At the time, yes. Less so now.”

“Good, because it’s not happening again. Do you understand? That’s not— that’s not who we are anymore.”

“Jimin…”

“I will fuck my way through Sariye before I let you touch me again.” Jimin is just throwing words out now. His head is a mess. He shouldn’t have drunk anything. But— he’s not even that tipsy. He’s just fucked out and furious.

“Okay,” Taehyung says, looking as calm as ever. “If that’s your choice.”

“So you’ll respect that, but you won’t leave me alone?”

Taehyung’s eyes shine.

“I— I’m not leaving you.”

“Again, you mean?” Jimin’s expression is bitter. Cruel.

“Yes,” Taehyung says. He looks uncharacteristically solemn. “Never again.”

Jimin’s heart thumps painfully.

“How dumb do you think I am? You think because I make my living on my back, my mind has rotted away? That I’d dumbly believe you again?”

Taehyung’s eyebrows flicker down. “Don’t disrespect yourself like that.”

“I’m not— I don’t—” Jimin makes a sound of frustration. “What are you even doing here, Taehyung? Why now? Why couldn’t you just stay gone?”

“I thought about you every day.”

“Congratulations! I’m sure you’re not alone in that. Are you going to give me any real answers? I know you’re not back here for me, so don’t try that bullshit again.”

“Then there’s nothing else I can say.”

Jimin’s mouth twists. He’s so angry he has no idea what else to say. He twists and strides down the hallway. He can feel Taehyung’s presence behind him. He gets to his room and whirls to shut the door before Taehyung can come in.

“For the last time,” he says through gritted teeth, glaring through the crack. “Stay the fuck away.”

Then he slams the door closed. He pauses, breath still in his chest. Then he hears Taehyung’s soft footsteps padding away.

He sags against the door. Exhausted.

What kind of idiot is he?

Several days pass. And Taehyung— well. Taehyung doesn’t appear again.

Jimin has bookings with his regulars. He spends one day up at the court, making polite conversation while being shown off on the arm of a lady. He goes to the theatre with another lord. He dances for a party at a manor in the Golden Quarter and then spends the night in bed with the married couple. All throughout it, he’s paranoid. Glancing around. But there’s no sign of Taehyung.

He’s disappeared like Jimin imagined the whole thing. Only his ridiculous little star is left as proof that he ever came back.

Not for long. Just as Jimin had expected.

But still.

He’s not quite sure how to feel. Not upset. Definitely not upset.

“Jimin?”

Jimin blinks and refocuses his gaze, smiling at the lord across from him. Idiot – he can’t have Taehyung throwing him off his game. Not when he’d finally gotten rid of him.

Jimin thinks frantically back.

“Sorry, my lord,” he says. “Your brother? He’s returning to Sariye?”

“Are you feeling alright, Jimin?”

Jimin ducks his head, blushing.

“Just a little— well.” He bites his lip.

His client leans closer.

“No need to be shy. You can tell me anything, Jimin. Always.”

“Just a little lonely,” Jimin blurts out. “It’s— well. It’s been so long since my lord last booked me. I was getting— did I do anything wrong?”

“Ah, of course not. Come here.”

Jimin surges forward, climbing into his lap with a sigh.

This is Youngho’s thing. All of Jimin’s clients have their own special thing. Youngho just wants someone to care for, to rely on. He has no children, no partner anymore. He has his younger brother, but from what Jimin’s heard, the brother seems to only care about parties and wine and indulgence.

Well, perhaps Youngho has two things. Secrecy is the other, above anything else. Youngho is the most paranoid person Jimin’s ever met. Jimin gets searched by the guard before he’s let in and he doesn’t get to use the front door. Instead, he gets the pleasure of using a secret backdoor, tunnels through the palace that he has to crouch to fit through.

He’s the only client Jimin would go to so much trouble for. Only Seokjin at the Dovecote is aware of him and even then, his name is never written down. Every few weeks, Jimin jumps through all the ridiculous hoops so Youngho can treat him like a child before holding him down and fucking him.

Jimin doesn’t examine that too deeply. It’s not his place to judge his clients.

Besides, it’d surely be some kind of treason. Youngho is one of the kings, holding in his hands the judicial power of Sariye. So yes, Jimin deals with the weird tunnels filled with cobwebs and spiders and the secrecy, because he has a king as his client.

Even if he can’t tell anyone.

Youngho strokes his back and Jimin falls into his character, blinking dewey eyes and letting Youngho rant about various court officials. And his brother, and the martial king Wang Sungki. Jimin never really processes much of it. Doesn’t care for any of the court politics and intrigue. He’s had countless offers from people to spy on his clients but the truth is, Jimin barely pays attention to any of it.

He normally isn’t so bad as to tune out in the middle of a booking, though. As if he’s a new Flower that just debuted. Idiot.

The rest of the booking goes smoothly. Jimin makes sure of it. Youngho has an exhausted smile on his face afterwards and his fingers trail down Jimin’s spine as Jimin slips out of the bed.

Jimin presses a kiss to his lips and then leaves by the secret door. His pleasant expression falls as soon as the door thuds shut behind him. Bending over through the tunnels makes his back ache even more. And he’s annoyed at himself – how the fuck could he lose concentration like that? With Youngho? He hasn’t worked all these years to let something like this trip him up.

He’s still mad about it this morning at breakfast. Lunch. Whatever, it’s his first meal of the day.

“You look happy,” Yoongi comments as Jimin sits next to him.

Jimin makes a face at him. “Thanks,” he replies sarcastically.

“Late booking?” Yoongi’s eyebrows rise up as he sees all the food Jimin is piling onto his plate.

“Yeah. And he only ever hand feeds me fruit and sweets. I’m fucking starving.”

“One of those.”

“Yeah, it’s a pain when I have to— Jungkook!” Jimin’s eyes latch onto the boy creeping out of the kitchen, bun in hand. The boy startles, turning terrified eyes towards Jimin. “You’re not in trouble, stop looking at me like that.” The boy still doesn’t relax. Jimin doesn’t know if he’s ever seen him relaxed. But hopefully he doesn’t throw up – Jimin had given him a compliment once and had learnt his lesson very quickly. He’s had a lot of things done to his feet in his life. No one had thrown up on them before.

“Ah— um, what— what?”

“Come sit, have a proper meal.”

Jungkook cringes. “Ah no, I couldn’t possibly—”

“C’mon!” Jimin shifts over and pats the empty bench space, consequently squishing him right up against Yoongi. Yoongi doesn’t say anything. Jungkook ducks his head and comes over. He’s such a cute kid, except for the ‘vomiting when super embarrassed’ thing. Seokjin picked him up off the streets one day and Jimin thought he had all the makings of a successful Flower. But Jungkook has no ambition at all – he’s happy to just run errands, helping out around the Dovecote. Every so often, Jimin will get a little gift in his room and he knows it’s from Jungkook.

Jungkook climbs onto the bench and hunches his shoulders in. Jimin continues his conversation with Yoongi, piling up Jungkook’s plate with food. Jungkook stays quiet, but his shoulders slowly relax.

And then Seokjin sails into the room.

“Hello, my darling doves!” he calls, waving his arms about magnanimously. “My sparkling gems! My beacons of learning and grace!”

“And fucking,” someone mumbles. Jimin bites his lip to prevent his smile. Seokjin ignores them.

“I have an exciting announcement!”

“Are we finally getting a hot springs room?” someone asks.

“Ooh! Is the library being extended?”

“What about floor heating? The Night Grove has it!”

“I— what! No, shut up!” Seokjin scowls. “It’s not any of that! And I’m not going to do any of that! Stop asking!”

“Tyranny,” someone mutters. Jimin takes a mouthful of food so Seokjin doesn’t catch his smile.

“This is what I get for educating you all! And giving you too many compliments. I’m shutting down the library and using the space as my own personal massage area.”

“Was that the announcement?” Jimin asks.

“No. And now you’ve all ruined the mood.” Seokjin frowns down at the floor. Then he visibly pulls himself up, gracious smile back on his face. “Okay, we’re back! Now. The announcement is… are you ready?”

Jimin sighs. He turns back to his food.

“We have a new apprentice! A new dove-in-training! A baby bird, ready to spread his wings and take flight!”

That’s vaguely interesting. They hadn’t gotten a new apprentice in over a year. Hoseok joined several months previously, but that was out of the ordinary – he came straight from another Flowerhouse, so wasn’t an apprentice. He was already a successful Flower in his own right.

“Taehyung, come on in!”

Jimin thinks he’s hearing things at first. He keeps chewing on his food. But then someone enters and he turns to the door and—

It’s Taehyung. Jimin’s Taehyung. His hair is brushed but still falls in waves about his head. He’s beaming out at everyone, eyes sparkling. His eyes pass over Jimin like he doesn’t exist. There’s a collective indrawn breath from those at the lunch table.

“Ha! That shut you lot up.” Seokjin plants his hands on his hips. “Now, I know he’s older than our other apprentices, but I neither ask nor care for your feedback on the matter. As always, the door is there. Our darling new dove has the makings of a great Flower, but still needs some polishing. Jimin!”

Jimin startles so hard his knee knocks into the table. The others snicker.

Seokjin’s nose curls in distaste. He turns to Taehyung apologetically.

“It may not look it, but I assure you he is one of our top Flowers. You’ll be in great hands as you shadow him!”

Jimin finally finds his voice. “What?”

“Yes! Our new baby bird will be accompanying you and soaking up all the learnings he can! Unconventional, I know, since he is older than usual, but that’s why I thought you’d make the perfect pair!”

“I’ve heard about the Dovecote’s top Flower,” Taehyung says, voice deep. His eyes finally meet Jimin’s. Jimin can’t read them. “I’m so thankful for this opportunity.”

Jimin’s mouth drops open.

“Of course! I am happy to provide for the right candidate!” Seokjin beams around the room. “Right! Back at it! Taehyung, have a seat, mingle, enjoy!”

Seokjin disappears in a whirl of silk. Taehyung bows to everyone. Jimin can’t tear his eyes away from him. His eyes follow as Taehyung glides across the room, slipping into a spare bench space.

“Hello,” he says to everyone, glancing around the table with a shy smile. “I’m Taehyung. I hope you’ll make me feel welcome.”

Jimin shoots out of his seat. He doesn’t look back, just speeds out of the room. He catches up to Seokjin on the stairs.

“What are you doing?” he hisses, blocking his way with his hands on his hips. “A new apprentice? Why?”

“He’s mysterious,” Seokjin says. “He has many talents. And did you see that face? Almost enough to rival mine.”

“He’s way too old to apprentice!”

“The same could’ve been said about you.” Seokjin’s eyebrows rise. “And look at you now. Aren’t you glad I took that chance on you?”

Jimin clenches his teeth.

“I was still younger than Taehyung is.”

“How would you know? Maybe he has an old face.”

“He doesn’t have an old face! He’s— how did you even find him?!”

“A lady never gives up her secrets.” He leans forward and boops Jimin on the nose. Jimin rears back, disgusted look on his face. “Are you upset because you think he’ll steal your crown?”

“What? No!”

“Maybe it’ll do you some good to have someone to teach. Reignite your passion, yes?”

“My passion doesn’t need reigniting! This is a terrible idea.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I must’ve missed where you became the housemother of the most successful Flowerhouse in Sariye and perhaps even further.”

“Don’t be patronising.”

“Don’t question my decisions, then. Act like an adult and I’ll treat you like an adult.” Seokjin’s eyes are like steel for a moment. A reminder of how Seokjin built this all up from nothing through his own ambition. Then the steel melts and his eyes crinkle cutely. “But until then!” he coos, bopping Jimin on the nose again. “You’ll just be my baby dove Mimi! Now, be nice to your new shadow or I’ll restrict your bookings!”

“What!”

“That’s a good boy!” Seokjin ruffles his hair, Jimin ducking away a second too late. “Make a good impression, now! And leave your housemother to his important tasks, mm?”

Seokjin steps around Jimin and goes up the rest of the steps. Jimin is left staring after him, vibrating with anger.

He stands there for a time, fists clenching and unclenching. Then he goes to his room and slams the door.

Jimin manages to avoid Taehyung right up until that night. He doesn’t have a booking, so is in the front room with the others for viewings. Jimin has a glass of wine cradled in one hand, listening to a lord talk about court.

“...and it truly is shocking that Yang Byungchul deserted his post after all his commendations and awards.”

“Oh,” Jimin says, distracted. “Is that the general? The one at the Battle of Cape North?” His eyes keep drifting back to Taehyung. Taehyung is in the usual grey garb of an apprentice, despite being way too old for the position. He’s standing in the background, hands clasped demurely in front of him, observing the room. Jimin had hoped him appearing was a bad dream. Unfortunately not.

“Yes, Wang Sungki’s star general. Which— you know, I can’t help but think – what did Wang Sungki do to make someone like that desert? It doesn’t happen out of nowhere, you know.”

“Mm. It is concerning.” Taehyung’s eyes meet his for a second then flick away, as if Jimin is just another one of the ten or so Flowers in the room. Asshole.

“And I’m not the only one that thinks that. Everyone is thinking it. Wang Sungki is going to have to tread very carefully in court over the coming days. He’s lucky he’s one of the kings, is all I have to say.”

“Mm. And what stance do you plan to take?”

Taehyung is acting like he belongs here. Which he doesn’t! This is Jimin’s domain! Jimin’s family! How did he even manage to trick his way past Seokjin anyway?

“I’ll see how the cards fall, of course. I’ve always been in Dae Youngho’s favour, anyway, so it doesn’t affect me much. This is why judicial kings are much more stable. Martial kings have the opportunity to shine much more frequently, but that means their fall is more dramatic too.” The lord shudders. “Too much instability.”

“Mm.” Jimin suddenly snaps his gaze back to him and smiles. “Would you like another drink?”

“Oh, if you’re—”

“Let me get that for you.” He grabs his cup and stands up in a whirl of iridescent silk. His smile warms further as he leans down and curls the lord’s hair behind his hair. “I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, and the lord’s face goes red.

He strides across the room. Straight towards Taehyung.

“My apprentice,” Jimin says with a smile sharp enough to cut. “Just who I wanted to see. Let’s have a chat, hmm?” He doesn’t wait for Taehyung to reply, just grabs him by the arm and hauls him out of the room. He drags him all the way to an empty room, then drops his arm like he’s been burnt.

“What are you doing here?” he hisses, folding his hands across his chest. “This isn’t funny.”

“Funny?” Taehyung blinks guilelessly at him. “What do you mean? I’m just trying to make a living.”

“Cut that bullshit. How did you trick Seokjin into letting you in here?” Jimin’s eyes widen. “Did you threaten him?!”

“No need to be so dramatic. I got in here on my own merits.” Taehyung flutters his lashes. “Don’t you think I’m beautiful enough to be a Flower? What colour do you think I should dye my hair when I debut? I was thinking pink, too.”

Trembles go down Jimin’s arms. “Why are you here.” His voice is flat, but it’s deceptive – anger courses through him just beneath the surface.

“You’re here.”

“That’s not an answer!”

Taehyung looks calmly back at him. His eyes are liquid. Once, Jimin had known everything going on behind them. Or at least, he thought he had. Now?

Not so much.

“I told you to leave me alone,” Jimin says when Taehyung stays silent.

“I did.” Taehyung’s lips tilt up. “For a little while.”

“I meant for good!”

Taehyung shrugs. “Okay. But I’m not going to do that.”

“I can’t— you— ugh!” Jimin throws his hands up. “I don’t want you here, do you understand that?”

“Yep.”

“I’m going to get you kicked out.”

Taehyung stays equally as calm. “You’re welcome to try.”

The calmer Taehyung is, the more furious Jimin gets.

“I’ll find out what you’re up to and why you’re here.”

“Please do.”

Jimin’s fists clench. He wants to punch Taehyung. Attack him with a knife again. But— he can’t. Not now. He breathes out slowly and it does very little to calm the raging fire in him. But he pastes a fake smile on his face and says, sugary sweet, “I have clients to fuck. Stay out of my way, Taehyung.”

And then he leaves.

Jimin is in the sunroom, stretched out on the ground. His legs are out next to him, chest on the floor. His hands reach forward to deepen the stretch. He tries to stretch twice a day. It’s good for his dancing, but it’s also been one of the best things in getting his leg better. After the bone had mended, he’d still remained prone to ankle and knee injuries on that leg. Stretching helps. Especially on days like today, where it’s unseasonably cold – his leg is always a pain in the cold.

It’d been annoying enough that he’d dug out the salve Taehyung had slipped in his bag and applied it. It tingled, but soothed the ache. There’s no way he’s telling Taehyung that, though. Despite being his “apprentice”, he’s so far managed to avoid doing any actual teaching. Very good work on his part.

“Oh! There you are.”

Jimin sighs. The sunroom is often deserted at this time, but he’s not always so lucky. He tilts his head to the side so he can see the person hovering at the door. It’s Jungkook, so he can’t really be all that upset.

“Is something here for me?” he asks, shifting into a different stretch. This time his forehead grazes his knee. He can feel the pull all up his back.

“No— well, yes, but the usual.” The usual being the gifts from various courtiers and admirers. Jimin doesn’t even look at them anymore, letting others pick through them before donating them. “It’s just— well, you're the new Flower’s teacher right?”

“He’s not a Flower yet,” Jimin mutters, scowling at his knee. “And yes. According to Seokjin, I am.”

“Oh. I wasn’t sure if Hoseok had taken over—”

“What?” Jimin straightens up, eyes narrowing.

“He’s teaching him dance now. It’s pretty cool, actually! Different from your style. I think you both have very distinct styles so you can’t really compare— oh! Are we going to watch?”

Jimin has jumped to his feet, briskly brushing off his clothes. He stalks past Jungkook and down the stairs.

“I’m his teacher,” he mutters, “not that idiot.”

“I didn’t mean to— oh no, I didn’t mean to make you upset, I, um, oh I—”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Jimin says. Then he says under his breath, “Just Hoseok.”

“What was that?”

“Kookie, do you mind getting me some fruit? I missed lunch.”

“Yes! Absolutely!” Jungkook takes off to the kitchen. Jimin huffs watching him. A sweet little baby, easily distracted. He continues on to the bottom floor and follows the sound of Hoseok’s bright laughter.

He slips unseen into the room.

They both have their backs to him. Hoseok is demonstrating a move, an intense look on his face. He ends in a dramatic pose, hand flung up in the air. Then he breaks and his laughter rings out.

“Like that!” he says. “Minus the laughing. It’s a very serious face.”

Taehyung smiles. “I can do serious. You’re a very good dancer, Hoseok.”

Jimin’s eyes narrow.

“Ah! Thank you. You have a lot of talent too! Must be why Seokjin made an exception for you, huh?”

“Must be,” Taehyung says, which isn’t a very satisfactory answer to Jimin. It says nothing.

Hoseok claps his hands. “No more slacking! I’ll count you in. Ready?”

Jimin leans against the wall. Taehyung gets counted in and then— well, fuck.

He is a good dancer.

He moves with a fluidity Jimin’s never seen from him before. Or maybe that’s not quite true – he’d been fluid enough when he’d disarmed Jimin and thrown him onto his back. The Taehyung of now seems to have done some training in something. He’d had a long time away from Jimin to learn, at least.

He moves with complete control of his body. Like he knows exactly where he’s placed at all times. He never wobbles; his centre of gravity is unshakeable, even when he spins. And when he bends over, looping up, Jimin can see his flexibility.

The rest of the room fades out.

He has the grace, but there’s none of the distinctive style that someone who’s danced for a long time has. Taehyung seems to just know his body well and knows how to move. He’s not close to Jimin’s level. Or even Hoseok’s. But it won’t take him long to become something special.

Taehyung finishes in the same dramatic pose as Hoseok, face tilted up to the light. His hand reaches up. Jimin’s breath catches in his throat. Taehyung’s eyes are closed and his face just— exudes emotion. There’s nothing overt. It’s in each line of his face, the tilt of his chin, the sweep of his brows. Jimin’s heart thumps. He looks— yearning. A quiet kind of despair.

And then Taehyung’s eyes snap open. He unerringly looks right at Jimin.

Jimin is frozen still. Taehyung’s eyes burn. There’s a fire and it lights Taehyung up from the inside, making Jimin want to close the space between them. Jimin’s fingers dig into his sides, hugging himself. His world narrows even further and all it is is Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung.

“See?”

Jimin jolts and realises Seokjin has snuck into the room next to him. Who knows how long he’s been there like a voyeur, enjoying Jimin’s probably too-obvious focus.

“What?” Jimin stamps down on all emotion. He can’t stop his foot from tapping erratically on the floor.

Seokjin’s eyebrows rise. “Don’t act dumb. I saw the expression on your face, Park Jimin. Do you still think it was a stupid idea to make him an apprentice?”

“Absolutely,” Jimin says, which is absolutely a lie.

Seokjin snorts. “Oh, please. Darling dove, if you two had been alone, you’d both be naked and halfway to coming right now. Don’t deny it.”

Jimin’s face twists in disgust. “Don’t be crass.”

Seokjin’s face is very condescending. Slowly, his gaze turns down to where Jimin’s foot is still jumping up and down. A nervous habit he’d gotten rid of years ago. Flowers don’t have nervous habits.

Seokjin doesn’t need to say anything to have an impact.

Jimin huffs. “Whatever. I stand by that he shouldn’t be here.” Then he spins away and leaves the room, slamming the door. Because he’s an adult who can modulate his emotions well. He gets one floor up then stands there, fists clenched. He forces his breathing to calm down. Fucking Seokjin. Fucking Taehyung. And fucking Hoseok, of course. They’re all working together to piss him off.

“Jimin! Ah! I’m sorry! I went to the kitchen and Taehee said they only had apricots and I know you like peach and dragonfruit the best, but she said they were out, and I know you don’t like apricots, right? From that time we had that apricot rice, with the chicken, and then— I mean, I went to the market because I thought it’d be close but—”

“It’s fine, Jungkook.” Jimin breathes out and forces a smile on his face. Everyone else is annoying. Jungkook is a perfect little butterfly. “You went all the way to the markets for this? You’re a sweetheart.”

“Oh— I— uh—” Jungkook’s face is starting to go green. Sure indication that Jimin pushed his shyness too far with the ‘sweetheart’ line. He quickly grabs the fruit. It’s way too much for a snack.

“Thank you!” he trills, then sets off up the stairs again before Jungkook throws up anywhere near his vicinity. Jimin has a weak stomach for that kind of thing.

Jimin grabs on to a passing Flower. “Darling,” he purrs. “Do you know where Taehyung’s rooms are? My new apprentice.”

The sweet Flower gives him directions. Jimin’s kind face falls as soon as his back is turned. He stalks down the hallway. He doesn’t know how long Taehyung has left of his ‘lesson’ but knowing Hoseok, it’ll be a while longer. They were both barely sweaty.

Not that Jimin had noticed.

He slips into Taehyung’s room. It’s way smaller than Jimin’s. Kind of dingy. The window is narrow, the bed small and neatly made. Taehyung barely has anything, though. The only sign of him is slippers by the door. Jimin frowns and searches everything until he finds a pack under the bed.

He hauls it out and starts going through it.

Clothes. Dark robes, like what he’d seen Taehyung in when he’d first appeared. A coin purse with not much in it. He must have more hidden elsewhere. A salve, identical to the one Jimin had found in his bag. Jimin tosses it aside with a sneer. There’s nothing very interesting at all. He frowns and thinks for a moment.

Then upends the bag on the ground.

He really doesn’t travel with much. He has to have more belongings somewhere. Wherever he’s been living for the past eight years. Jimin roots around in Taehyung’s stuff and then— he frowns. A tiny slip of paper. The writing is messy, but there’s two red stamps on it. It’s a boat ticket from Gwatang to Sariye. Dated several days before he first showed himself to Jimin.

Which means… Taehyung has been in Gwatang? Or at least, he was there before coming here. Jimin holds the ticket, staring down at it. He’d been sure Taehyung hadn’t been in Gwatang, at least back then. It was where they’d grown up together, a city on the coast that was within Sariye’s sprawling territory. After the accident, as soon as Jimin could walk again, he’d searched Gwatang for Taehyung. He’d found no trace of him – like he’d never existed. The rest of their old gang hadn’t seen him either.

So. Taehyung had left, and then come back. Maybe well after Jimin had fled all the memories and heartbreak, going to Sariye and eventually being picked off the street by Seokjin. He’d only been back to Gwatang once, in the early days of debuting as a Flower. It’d been a fanciful boat trip, mooring at all the beautiful inlets along the way. Jimin had been hired along with several other Flowers and the time had been spent drinking and having sex. He hadn’t been so good at asserting himself then so against his misgivings, he’d ventured into Gwatang with the lady who’d hired him. He’d spent the whole time paranoid, searching for Taehyung, searching for any other members of his gang that could recognise him and give away his street rat past.

He hadn’t been back again.

Jimin’s lips press together. Abruptly, he shoves everything back into the bag. But just as he’s doing so, his fingers catch on something hard. He pauses. Then investigates more thoroughly. His fingers feel along the outline of something round. Something between the lining of the bag. He looks at the seams, feeling around— there. A hidden pocket, lying perfectly flat against the side of the bag.

Jimin dips his hand in and pulls everything out.

The first is another coin purse – what he’d felt before. There’s not much in there. But there is a strange coin, one with a square cut in the middle of it and foreign language written around the edges.

It’s from Yufadong.

It’s not uncommon for Sariyese to visit Yufadong. There’s a fair amount of trade between the two across the sea, despite the tentative truce from last year. Their history is long and bitter, so it’s not a spot one goes to for a nice vacation. Someone unassuming like Taehyung, going to Yufadong? Suspicious.

The other hidden item is a rolled up pouch. Jimin squints at the roll to make sure he can tie it back up exactly the same, then undoes it. Inside, are several vials. Tiny pouches. A pocket at the back with several sprigs of something – Jimin doesn’t really want to check. He frowns at the vials. He can’t quite see what’s inside. Some kind of powder? It looks almost like a medicine kit, but why would Taehyung hide a medicine kit?

A footstep out in the hall. Jimin’s head whips around. But it’s just someone passing. His breath rushes out in a whoosh and he sets about packing everything up, then shoving it back under the bed exactly where he’d found it. He creeps to the door and peeks out – no one.

He slips out the door and dashes down the corridor, only relaxing when he gets to his room.

Well.

That didn’t help much. Now he just has even more questions. The money from Yufadong. The pouch. Gwatang.

There’s a reason for all of it. Jimin just needs to figure out. Then he can find out why Taehyung is back in the first place.

And get rid of him.